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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798241">ten sixty four celsius</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare'>egare</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Gen, It/Its Pronouns for Foolish, Mentions of Other Dream SMP Characters, Spoilers for TommyInnit's 3/1/21 Stream, admin dream turning on peaceful mode: you can make a god out of this, and i went WILD with it, but really? i'm not a good enough writer, foolish mentioned his previous skin was a creeper, for it to ACTUALLY be body horror, if he won't give us backstory i'll make it myself, if you don't have your own immortality storebought is fine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:14:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The wound is covered with emeralds, their beauty hiding the barbarism beneath it. Enchantments are woven into the jewels that slowly replace each of its organs, thrumming with a power that it did not yet care to learn about.</p><p>or: the creation of divinity at the hands of a mortal, and the lessons of humanity and compassion.</p><p>or? lmao foolish backstory pog</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ten sixty four celsius</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It did not have a childhood.</p><p>It remembers its creation, the sudden consciousness where there once was none, existence where it did not exist before. There was nothing, and then there was everything, an endless expanse of sand beneath its feet and an understanding of what was necessary to survive. It knew of the pit of gunpowder that rested in its chest, a defense mechanism to be set off should it find itself near an enemy. It learns of those it was neutral to, different creatures that growled or rattled or <em> vwooped </em>or hissed; those that wandered just as it did, a solidarity in their lack of purpose. It watched some pick up items, held in hands that did not know how to properly wield their newfound weapons, cut down and stolen from.</p><p>It learns of those it was reactive to, those that elicit a hiss as its gunpowder threatens to ignite. Some heed its warning, backing up and keeping their distance as they find a path that would distance the two, a confrontation avoided. It does not follow when they flee, no concept of aggression directing it to do so.</p><p>It does not have the capacity to be fascinated as the sky lightens for the first time, some of those that walked with it beginning to sizzle beneath the heat that beat down on them. It watches with an impassive gaze as creatures fall around it, turning into rotten flesh or broken down bones.</p><p>It continues to wander.</p><p>It has no concept of time, as the sun rises and falls and rises and falls and stands above it during its next reactive encounter, a creature similar to the first that had fled. When the creature does not flee on its own, it allows a portion of its gunpowder to light, hissing a warning once again. But the creature remains where it stands, distant enough, but far too close to be ignored. The sound it lets out as a deterrent is disregarded, and it wonders if it should inch closer and ignite, only a few steps necessary for the other to get caught in the blast.</p><p>It feels no sadness at the idea of its own demise; it did not feel anything, really. It watches the creature pull out a small machine from its person and listens to the clicking it emits, a faint glow encircling the creature, grabbing reality around it, and <em> twisting </em>.</p><p>It feels pain for the first time as something is torn from it, its warning hiss dissipating, its defenses lowered against its will. The supply of gunpowder still sits in its chest but it cannot ignite it, its body no longer registering a threat to react to.</p><p>A rope is tied around its middle, leading it through the desert well into areas it has never roamed before. The creature that guides it is confident in its path, led by an objective that it did not quite understand the thoughts behind, having never had an objective itself.</p><p>It does not feel discomfort as it is taken into a smaller area made of wood and stone, placed in a room filled with shelves and surfaces covered with marked-up papers. Jars of gray powders fill the spaces that are not occupied with books, and it is placed in the center of the room, surrounded with bars of silver to keep it in place.</p><p>It has never felt pain before.</p><p>Its scales are methodically torn off from its chest, the skin raw beneath hands that hurt it without care. It focuses internally in an attempt to escape the situation it was placed in, but it cannot call forth anything to ignite its gunpowder storage, forced to stay still as hands dig into its body and empty out the very defense mechanism it futilely reached for. </p><p>The wound is covered with emeralds, their beauty hiding the barbarism beneath it. Enchantments are woven into the jewels that slowly replace each of its organs, thrumming with a power that it did not yet care to learn about.</p><p>Gold melts at 1064 celsius. It feels every degree of it as the metal coats its skin, covering what little remained of its original self in an aureate shell.</p><p>Perhaps worse than the modifications to its body are those to its mind. It learns what unconsciousness is, put to sleep as the creature alters its code and forces it to become something it was not created as.</p><p>It wakes, and the humanity it was given is a terrifying curse.</p><p>The creature— <em> the person, </em> something corrects inside of it, now aware of things such as players and mobs, language and personhood— cocks its— his head to the side, emotions otherwise hidden. It blinks with eyelids it did not have before, uncertain of what it is meant to do. It has not had thoughts like these, uncertainty an unfamiliar feeling that lodged itself in its throat and closed it off from air that it did not need to breathe before.</p><p>It recalls the events leading up to its second awakening. This was not something that it could do before, not something it ever felt a <em> desire </em> to do. But it remembers following after this person in their white mask and green cloak, and can now put together body language with meaning, noticing warning signs that it had ignored before it was made aware. Looking back on the events that caused its capture and transformation, it knows the mistakes it had made.</p><p>It was foolish, to follow this man.</p><p>It is given a mirror. Thinking of itself prior to its awakening, it recalls unblinking eyes and a perpetually gaping mouth; it brings a hand up and touches the face it sees, startling at the touch he feels on his  own skin. The figure in the reflection moves in the same ways it does, but it is unable to connect the emerald gaze and golden skin to itself.</p><p>The person asks if it understands what has happened. It does not respond.</p><p><em> Foolish, </em> it repeats to itself instead, and the person lets out a soft <em> “Huh,” </em> intrigued. It seems to have said the word aloud. The person asks if that is its name. It knows what a name is, now, a word by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to. It supposes it is as good as anything to be called.</p><p>A chain is hung around its neck, a tag attached and labeling it with the adjective, the person explaining it to simply be a “precautionary measure”. He provides his own name, a noun not typically used to refer to a person. It wonders if the one that created it is a person at all.</p><p>It learns what condescension is, as it is instructed to ignore the power that runs through its veins until it is called upon by the man named after a noun. It is let out of the room with instructions to stay near, and it retreats to the comforts of its first life, heat now felt as it hits against its body. It returns to a solitary existence, no longer content with the wandering that once filled its days as it creates a home in the desert nearby, a short trip away from where it had been created.</p><p>It learns to create just as it was created, going off of recipes in its mind that it had not known before being raised by the man named after a noun. It is found by creatures who offer it things it had never thought of before— armor to put on its body, to protect its fragility and keep it safe from the demise that came for them all; breads and meats to feed itself, something it could admit it forgot about often until its body slowed down and reminded it of the new requirement it needed to function properly. One of the figures coos over it, claiming it as her own and showering it in gifts, all materialistic save for a single small figure that beckons for it to hold it.</p><p>The totem is held with a gentleness it focuses on maintaining, fearing that any extra strength would shatter the bond formed between itself and the smaller copy of it. The creatures that accompany it look on in curiosity, unable to sense the life in the totem that it feels, similar to every  other creation, just as alive as the players, mobs, and world around them. Something twists in its chest as it is forced to hand over the golden child, but it knows that it is safe with the creature that was like it, creeper turned other.</p><p>It indulges, in the safety of the home it has created. It satisfies its curiosity by leading the echo of a villager to a room of netherrack and fire, placing its hands on the creature’s head and murmuring the words that were embedded into it just as much as its jewels and gold were. No one is there to reprimand it as its magic swirls around them, bringing them both to a physicality that had been lost, draining it of a divinity that it had gotten used to, rendering it… mortal. </p><p>The resurrected finds a home with it, accompanied by a silent enderman who keeps watch over the creature that was returned to a life he thought he would never be able to return to. They find refuge and companionship in the double-headed cobra, sworn to secrecy as his resurrector continues with its work, content. The villager travels down the way to his people, some days, returning with stories of life that bring a smile to its face. It...  did good, it thinks, aware of the definition of the word and its alternative. It used its power to return a loved one to those who could live without him, but did not need to suffer so. It rests, returning its power with each passing day; it collects, energy, food, and materials all necessary to continue its work; and it builds, dissatisfied while there is still so much to do. </p><p>It feels pride for the first time, standing back and looking at the home of gold and jewels that it made, just as it was made.</p><p>Three travelers find their way to its home, two familiar, the other only spoken of. The first offers a sacrifice once given to him, a firstborn returned home as a sign of peace and a hope for its audience. The second is somber, a bag in his hands— he holds diamonds and other things it had no need for, but it understands the song and dance of material wealth in exchange of good and services, of expertise and talents, and it accepts the pouch without a glance in it; he chuckles, a familiar sound it had heard in the moments spent in the cold of a temporary home it never quite claimed, one that now rings hollow in its mixture of poorly concealed desperation and undisguised sorrow.</p><p>The third is… <em>cloaked</em>, in the thing it was designed to repel, death gripping tightly to broken wings and coating hands that would never quite be cleared of the crime they helped commit. Those hands open up a chest split in two, each side accompanied by the echoes of an individual soul, broken and lost, but close enough to hear the cries of those left behind. One side is filled with blue and gold, the tools of brewing, and the tools of destruction. The other side is empty save for a small box whose devotion is a visible memory to it, an adoration bordering on divinity that could not leave the wooden grooves regardless of how it is reshaped and recreated; it looks toward the visitors for permission before opening the box, revealing two music discs stored safely inside.</p><p>A fourth and fifth figure are with the group, a ghost of a child and a ghost of a man who stare at it with unblinking, white eyes, surprise evident; he had spoken to the former before, when he was alive, and their first impression meant he had not expected much. The other knows stories of it just as it knows stories of he, humanity never possessed by both of them at the same time. </p><p>Power flows through its veins, and something calls out to it to fix the two, to make the two whole once more. The group asks much of it, offering plenty but bringing things of no worth in the process of what must be done. Yet their arrival brings something unexpected by all parties involved, a giddiness in the project set in front of it.</p><p>There is a tale of a jar that once held all the evils of the world, opened and unable to be shut before wickedness was released upon humanity. But there is an alternate version of the tale, that hints at the jar containing the blessings of the world, rather than the evils. It was not opened by the first created women, but by a generic <em> ἀκρατὴς ἄνθρωπος, </em> a foolish man indulging in his curiosities. The jar is closed quickly enough to keep one concept inside where all others disappeared into the open air: hope remained, promising to bestow upon humanity something equal to the good that had been released.</p><p>It guides them inside, and the doors of the temple shut behind them with a resounding thud, jar lid closing and a promise made.</p>
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